


Leave Your Boots by the Door

by Wexchester (Charmsilver)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cowboys, First Time, Horses, M/M, Schmoop, Sex in Unconventional Places
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 05:16:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/845739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charmsilver/pseuds/Wexchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean’s a hotshot horse trainer on a ranch in Texas. Castiel is the new guy brought in to help him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dean’s got one foot in the stirrup and two hands on the saddle when the new trainer arrives. He pulls his boot out of the metal, returns it to solid ground and brushes off his hands. The yearling steps forward nervously, and Dean leads it to the post, ties it up with a quick-release knot. 

He turns back just as the new guy approaches, flanked by Ellen and sporting a rather severe expression. He’s pretty nerdy for a cowboy, and Dean makes a face at Ellen, who shrugs and steps forward to introduce him.

“Dean,” she says, “meet Castiel. Castiel – this is Dean.”

They shake hands, and Castiel locks eyes with Dean in a way that could be construed as haughty. Dean drops his arm, offers up his trademark smile. “Pleasure to meet you, uh, _Castiel_.”

Castiel nods a greeting, and Dean can’t help but notice the pleasant way the sun hits his eyes and makes them glimmer like rare gems. It’s romantic, and not at all Dean’s style, but frankly an _extremely_ accurate analogy. He clears his throat, hides the flush that creeps up his cheeks with a good-natured wink.

Castiel doesn’t smile, or return the wink, instead he opens his mouth and says _Hello, Dean_ , in a voice as rough as the pads of Dean’s fingers – that is to say, _very_ rough.   

Dean swallows, ignores the way Ellen rolls her eyes at him. She pats Castiel on the shoulder. “I’ll leave you to it then. You two play nice, now.’ She looks pointedly at Dean and he makes a mock-offended face.

“I don’t like what you’re implying,” he protests, earning a light slap from Ellen’s sharp hand.

“You _know_ ,” she says, and turns to Castiel.

“Better watch out for this one,” she tells him, and he blinks, regards Dean with a cool gaze.

“I am certain I can handle him,” he informs her.

She shrugs. “If you say so. I’ll be in the house if you need me.” Ellen walks away, her boots kicking up dust, and Dean and Castiel shift to face each other again.

“So you’re my new apprentice then, huh?” Dean smirks.

Castiel furrows his brow. “I would prefer the term ‘assistant’. We are on equal footings, are we not?”

Dean laughs loudly and reaches around to clap Castiel on the back. “Relax, buddy, I was just joking.” He moves over to where the yearling is tied up, unknots the rope from the fence and starts to lead the horse away. “You better show me what you’re made of, then,” he calls over his shoulder, assuming that Castiel will follow. 

 

Dean doesn’t expect much – trainers come and go throughout the seasons and they’re only ever good enough to get the job done – and he expects even less when Castiel emerges from the stable with the prettiest horse Dean has ever seen in all his long years of ranch work.

The gelding is damn nice to look at – celestial, even, with slim legs and a sweet, dish face. It’s pure white, bar a splash of grey on its muzzle and a scattering of smoke-coloured spots on its back. 

Frankly, it’s got the look of a horse that’s been pampered more than it has trained, and Dean watches Castiel saddle up with growing scepticism.   

He’s a quiet one, though, Dean’ll give him that, and when Castiel mounts up in one smooth motion, his horse doesn’t move an inch.

Castiel trots over to him, halts, awaiting Dean’s instruction.

“You any good at barrels?” he asks, knowing he’s probably asking too much. 

But Castiel seems unfazed. He shrugs, adjusts his hat so it’s sitting a little more snug on his head. “You might say that,” he murmurs, and Dean has no idea what that even _means_ , but he points him in the direction of the arena anyway.

 

Castiel and his mount line up at the starting gate with zero fuss, and Dean pretends not to be impressed when the horse stands calmly, ears pricked forward and body relaxed. 

From the fence, Dean waves a stopwatch around. “I’ll time ya,” he calls out, and Castiel nods, angles himself a little straighter in the saddle. “Whenever you’re ready,” Dean adds.

He expects a bit of prep, maybe a few deep breaths at the least, but Castiel urges his horse into gallop before Dean has even lowered his arm, and he barely manages to press the start button on the stopwatch in time.

They curve around the first barrel with a kind of strange, western grace, and Dean’s mouth falls open as the horse skirts around the edge, so close Dean is _sure_ he’s going to knock the barrel over.

But  he doesn’t, and with barely a nudge from Castiel he’s hurtling towards the next, performing the same, loping pirouette.

By the time they reach the third barrel, Dean’s heart is in his throat, but they clear that one just as easily, and before Dean knows it they’re heading for the gate. 

They come to a standstill a little way out of the arena, and Dean glances down at the stopwatch, whistles in astonishment. He hops down from the fencepost, heads over to where Cas is dismounting.

“Fifteen point eleven seconds,” he informs him, and Castiel makes a wry face, shrugs. 

“I could do better.”

“You’re kidding right?”

“No.” Castiel begins to lead his horse away and Dean falls into step beside him, disbelief written all the way across his face. “So am I up to scratch?” Castiel asks, and Dean laughs out loud, slaps a hand on Castiel’s back.

“Cas,” he says, liking the way the nickname feels on his tongue, “you’re gonna do just fine ‘round here.”


	2. Chapter 2

It turns out that Cas is great with the horses; he treats them kindly, never uses more force than necessary, and the horses seem to _love_ him. If Dean didn’t know better he’d have thought Cas was sneaking them sugar-coated apple pieces – how else could they grow so attached so quickly?

Whatever the case, Dean has no choice but to admit that Cas is the real deal – he’d call him a right horse whisperer if he actually believed in that stuff.

But for all his talents, Cas is kind of a dick.

He’s got the air of someone who just _knows better_ , even though Dean’s sure he’s got just as much experience under his belt, if not more. He doesn’t speak a lot either, and when he does it’s in a gravel-grating voice that makes Dean want to gnaw on a piece of wood to relieve his frustration.

Basically, Dean’s constantly torn between punching him right between the eyes and ripping his ridiculous plaid shirt off in one fell swoop.

What’s more, Dean’s completely convinced Cas knows _exactly_ what he’s doing to Dean, but he seems perfectly content to let him simmer away in a pool of perpetual sexual tension.

 

After a week of such torture, Dean takes matters into his own hands.

They’re finishing up for the day, carrying bits of tack from the pen to the barn when Dean sidles up beside Cas, a saddle resting on his arm and a bridle dangling from his shoulder.

“So,” he starts with a tentative lilt, drawing Castiel’s attention towards him. “You wanna go for a ride tonight?”

Cas seems surprised, and he regards Dean with a furrowed brow. “What for?”

Dean rolls his eyes, dumps the saddle on the ground and shrugs. “Just for fun. You _do_ know what fun is, don’t you?”

“Of course.” 

“Well, great. Saddle up after dinner then, huh? I’ll meet you at Big Rock.” He strides away before Cas can give an answer, hopes he hasn’t shot too far past the mark. 

 

Big Rock’s exactly what it sounds like – a huge stone formation located not far from the homestead. On hot days Dean sometimes sits under its shadow, leans his back against the cool surface and reads a book. 

Today he has something a little different planned. 

If Castiel ever shows, that is.

It’s not that Dean’s worried he won’t – what difference would it make, really? Just another lost cause under the Texan Summer sun. After all, Dean’s been through worse – he can handle a bit o’ heartache. 

But when he urges Impala over the rocky ground towards their agreed meeting place his heart is pounding like a shire horse with six legs. Exactly what that means, Dean doesn’t want to know, but when he arrives and Cas is nowhere to be seen, he can’t pretend he doesn’t feel his heart sink a little.

He pats Impala’s sleek, black neck with a reassuring hand. “We’ll give him a minute, huh, Baby?”

Impala flicks her ears back, paws impatiently at the dirt, and Dean grins. “That’s my girl,” he says fondly.

What feels like a lifetime later, Dean sees a flash of white in the corner of his eye. He turns Impala around, hides a triumphant smile when he sees Castiel trotting towards him on his fucking beautiful horse that Dean is absolutely _not_ jealous of.

Especially not with the ribbons of sunlight curling around its forelock like a halo, and _especially_ not with Castiel on its back, posting as if he was goddamn _born_ in the saddle. 

Dean rides up to meet him, tips his hat in a salute.

Castiel returns the gesture, bringing his horse to a standstill. 

“Thought you weren’t gonna come,” Dean says before he can stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth.

Cas stares until Dean’s mouth dries up, and it occurs to him how _weird_ this guy really is

Or maybe just troubled in the social kinda way, which is alright, Dean supposes.

“You, uh, you wanna head off then?” he asks, and Cas nods, falls into step beside Dean.

“Ever been out on the ridge at sunset?” Dean’s nervous asking it, because he knows it gives the game away, but Cas seems unperturbed.

“I haven’t.”

Dean swallows. “It’s a real treat,” he assures him, and Cas nods, hums a little.

They make their way mostly in silence from there, horses picking their way up a gentle but rocky incline. At one point Dean points up at a black spot in the sky and calls Castiel’s attention to it.

“Eagle,” he states, and admires the way Cas’ neck cranes so he can see it better, exposing the pale brown skin above his collar. “Pretty common out here.”

Castiel stands watching for a time, and something sparks in his eyes. “It is beautiful,” he says, and that’s the _last_ thing Dean expected.

He clears his throat, rubs a hand down his thigh. “Yeah, it is.”

They ride on, something warm and strange quivering inside Dean’s belly.

Just before they reach the ridge, Dean turns to Cas, a question slipping unbidden from his lips. “So, uh, that horse of yours. He got a name or what?”

Cas nods, rubs a hand over the horse’s wither. “Novak,” he says, and Dean raises an eyebrow.

“Novak?” 

He shrugs, smiles a little, and damn if that’s not the sweetest thing Dean’s ever seen. “You might say it’s an old family name.”

Dean laughs. “If you say so.” He pats Impala on the neck. “This here’s Impala; she’s no Chevy but she ran one down on the road once and the name’s stuck ever since.”

For the first time since his arrival, Cas laughs – sniggers, really – but Dean’s counting it as a victory nonetheless. “She’s a fine horse,” he agrees, and Dean grins.

“You’re damn right she is.”

The quiet seeps in again, and they approach the cliff edge with heavy tongues and locked lips. Dean still isn’t sure whether he made a huge mistake inviting Cas out here; only time will tell, he guesses.

Castiel seems content to gaze out at the view in silence, but Dean’s itching to engage, so he says Cas’ name tentatively, dragging his eyes away from the stunning panorama.

Cas blinks at him, entirely guiltlessly. “What is it, Dean?” he asks, and Dean’s brain short circuits.

“You’re kind of a dick, you know,” he says before he can stop himself.

Castiel’s face falls and suddenly he looks more like a puppy than a man. He stares with wide, sad eyes and Dean finds himself stammering out an apology, backtracking as fast as nervy horse in a float.

“I, uh, I only meant–“ He sighs, drops his head and rubs a hand over his eyes in frustration.

“Is that why you asked me out here?” Cas asks, and his voice is so utterly devastated that Dean feels a desperate urge to wrap him up in blankets and _hold_ him. 

“No, Jesus, Cas, no.” He shakes his head, looks away over Cas’ shoulder at the mountains to the south. “You’re just, uh, under my skin I guess, and I–“ _Deep breath, Winchester_. “I, y’know, thought we might, uh, y’know.”

_Smooth._

Dean exhales with a _whoosh_ , smiles in apology. “This was a bad idea,” he declares, and goes to turn his horse away.

But Cas calls his name softly, and when Dean twists in his saddle he sees something like hope in his usually stoic face. 

“Stay and watch the sunset with me, Dean,” he implores with a wide-eyed look that sends chills up Dean’s spine.

Dean brings his horse back beside Cas, catches his eye and smiles before looking out across the world. In the distance the sun catches against the curve of the hills, bathing them in golden light. 

Dean’s pretty sure this is a scene straight from _Brokeback Mountain_ , but the promise of something _good_ stirs inside his chest and he finds he doesn’t care.

Much.


	3. Chapter 3

If Dean were a better guy, he might insist they take things slow – maybe have a drink or two first, get to know each other before unbuckling any belts, if you get his meaning.

But when Cas slams him against the wooden wall of the stable after their ride out to the ridge, hands roaming further than they have any right to, Dean finds he can’t think of any reason why they shouldn’t do this right the fuck now.

Dean’s not sure when Cas stopped being his dickish, nerdy self and started being this pushy, bright-eyed guy with – _oh –_ the most talented tongue Dean’s ever encountered, but he’s certainly not complaining, especially when Cas mouths the side of his jaw, whispers _Wanted to do this for a while_ into Dean’s too-hot skin.

“Funny way of showing it,” Dean grunts in reply, biting back a moan when Cas nips at the corner of his lip.

“Thought I should keep things _professional_.” He hisses the last word into Dean’s mouth, sears their lips together, and Dean opens for him willingly, welcomes the way their teeth clash together.

They kiss with the desperation of sex-starved teenagers, and Dean drags their hips together, creating friction through the fabric of their jeans. “Ain’t nothing professional about this,” he says when Cas pulls back for air, slides a devious hand further down, earning a gasp from Castiel’s swollen lips.

Cas growls, reasserts himself by yanking Dean’s shirt out of where it’s tucked into his jeans. His thumb catches on Dean's belt buckle and he tugs at it uselessly, fingers fluttering at the skin that stretches over Dean’s hips. 

Dean laughs into Cas’ mouth, steadies his hand and helps him remove the offending item. It gets thrown unceremoniously to the side, landing with a rattle on the stone floor. 

Firm hands find Dean’s stomach, slide up under his shirt and tease at his nipples. Dean sucks in a breath, lets his head fall back against the wall. “Shit, Cas,” he murmurs, but the words are swallowed up by Cas’ soft mouth, which pries kisses from Dean’s already numb lips. 

A brief moment of respite gives Dean the moment he needs to undo Castiel’s own belt. He tugs it from its loops and drops it onto the floor beside their feet, kicks it away with one swift movement.

Cas sighs when Dean palms him through his jeans, exhales damp breath against Dean’s collar.

Some of the desperation bleeds out of them then, and they rock together slowly, gasping at the curls of electricity that coil and spread as far as their fingertips. Dean drags his hand an arc underneath Cas’ shirt, grins when his thumb touches one of Cas’ pebbled nipples.

“You ever done this in a stable before?” Dean asks, nipping at the sensitive spot beneath Cas’ ear.

Cas chuckles breathlessly, rests his forehead on Dean’s shoulder. “Can’t say that I have.”

Dean grins wider as he pops open the button on Cas’ jeans. He drags the zipper down with deliberate slowness, taking care to brush his knuckles over the hard line of Cas’ cock beneath the layers. Cas shudders, bucks his hips against Dean’s hand. “ _Dean_ ,” he moans, voice drowning in urgency, hands scrabbling for purchase on the jut of Dean’s hips. 

“ _Shh_ ,” Dean murmurs, bringing their mouths together so he can kiss Castiel thoroughly. At the same time he slips his hand inside Cas’ underwear, palms the thick weight of his straining erection 

Cas’ lips go slack against Dean’s mouth and he mumbles something incoherent when Dean uses his other hand to pull down the waistband of Castiel’s pants, freeing his cock from its confinements.   

He grinds into Dean’s hand, but is held steady by a firm pressure on his hip. Dean uses one hand to undo his own jeans, swallowing a groan as his cock bobs free. He pulls Cas flush against him, places a stream of kisses over Castiel’s collarbone.

Castiel surprises him when he tangles one hand in Dean’s hair and uses the other to pull Dean’s hand out from between them.

“Let me,” he murmurs, squeezing his fingers into the space between them.

Cas’ hand is cold against Dean’s flesh, but when he brings both their cocks together and begins to stroke in slow, fluid movements, Dean can’t bring himself to care.

He lets his head thump back against the wall, lets loose an unrestrained groan. “ _Christ_ , Cas,” he murmurs when Cas’ fingers tease the crown, trail some of the slick pre-come in a line over each of them in turn. 

Castiel’s breaths are coming in quick, short gasps, and he tugs at Dean’s hair, nuzzles his nose against Dean’s jaw. His strokes are becoming faster, less coordinated, and Dean’s pretty sure he’s going to pass out if this goes on any longer. 

He sucks on Cas’ neck, urging him on. Cas strokes once, twice, three more times, and Dean cants his head back, snaps his eyes open as he comes all over Castiel’s hand.

Dean takes a moment to breathe before prying Cas’ hand away from where he’s still feverishly jacking himself off. With shaky, post-orgasm concentration, Dean takes over the job, curling his fingers around Cas’ cock and matching his previous pace.

Cas bucks into his hand, groans as Dean smears his own come from Cas’ hand over him with a quick flick of his wrist.

Soon, Cas is babbling Dean’s name into his neck and Dean knows he’s close. He quickens his pace just slightly, kisses the side of his face.

Cas comes with a breathless whimper, his release coating Dean’s hand in a sticky mess. Dean strokes him through it, gentling his pace enough for Cas to regain his breath and senses. 

When he’s relaxed enough, Dean pulls his hand away, reaching for a towel from the hook beside his head. He wipes his hands off, gathers Castiel’s own limp fingers and cleans any remaining come from them. 

Cas hums placidly into his skin, places one tiny kiss on his shoulder before pulling back.

They meet each other’s eyes and Dean laughs. He fumbles for something hanging from the wall behind him, grins when his fingers alight on Castiel’s hat. With a flourish he plops it down on Castiel’s head, tilts the brim so it’s sitting just right. Cas smiles bashfully, cups Dean’s face in his palm.

“Hey, now,” Dean says, teasing, “no sappy stuff; we’re cowboys.”

Cas huffs, rolls his eyes. “We’re hardly cowboys, Dean.” 

Dean zips himself up, helps Cas do the same. “Coulda fooled me with that hat,” he purrs, flicking the edge gently.

Cas steals one more kiss from Dean’s curled lips before peeling himself away. “Very well.” He tucks his shirt back into his pants, straightens his collar. “I trust I don’t need to escort you back to the homestead?”

Dean snorts, pushes himself away from the wall. “Think I’m good,” he mutters, scratching the back of his head.

Cas nods, that hard, icy look returning to his face. He turns to leave, takes a few steps towards the door before Dean stops him with a tug on his sleeve.

“Wait,” he says, with more desperation in his voice than he intended. “We should, uh, do this again sometime.” Cas raises an eyebrow and Dean stamps his foot in frustration. “Not just the sex. I mean, we should get a drink sometime, yeah?” He squints up at Cas hopefully.

Cas regards him for a brief moment, then he smiles, nods in agreement. “I would like that,” he assures him.

“Okay, uh–“ Dean clears his throat, tries to look smooth. “Awesome.” He drops his fingers from Castiel’s sleeve, slides them into his jean pockets instead. “See you tomorrow, I guess.”

“Goodnight, Dean.” 

Cas leaves, and Dean returns to leaning against the wall. He inhales the warm, stable air, tastes the tang of sweet hay on his tongue. Up in the ceiling the rafters creak like old bones and Dean stares at their criss-crossing design, wonders if he’s just made a great decision or a really, really terrible one.

As usual, only time will tell.


	4. Chapter 4

It’s a typical dusty morning when Dean realises he’s got it bad for a certain black-haired wrangler. 

He’s watching Cas work with an exceptionally hot-blooded yearling, admiring the way he chats to it quietly and pats its back with slow, gentle hands. The realisation hits Dean out of left field, slams into him with such force he’s nearly knocked from the post he’s perched upon.

He blinks in shock, freezes.

In the pen, Cas throws a blanket over the horse’s back, soothes it with a few murmured words. Dean’s heart squeezes, involuntarily appreciating Castiel’s patience – his kindness. 

_Damn_.

In hindsight Dean supposes he shouldn’t be surprised; the people he usually sleeps with are no more than one night stands – men and women who Dean almost never see again. But he’s seen Cas every day since that night, and every day he’s been growing more and more enamoured.   

Dean groans – a little too loud – and Cas glances at him, asks a silent question with his eyes.

With a shake of his head Dean dismisses his gaze, tipping his hat forward just slightly to hide the way his cheeks redden.

The feeling itself is unfamiliar – Dean’s been interested in people before, of course – but there’s something about Cas that makes him think this is different. Perhaps it’s the way he always wears his hat slightly crooked, or maybe it’s the gentle manner with which he performs all his duties – like a man afraid of his own strength. It could be the way his eyes seem to spark whenever they meet Dean’s, or that rough voice that always sets Dean on the edge. 

More likely, Dean muses as Cas starts to lunge the horse with a long rope, it’s a combination of everything. 

Which is why Dean’s in some deep, _deep_ trouble. 

He shakes himself out of his stupor, hops off the fence and onto the sandy ground. Cas catches his eye and Dean mimes drinking, smirks when Cas quirks an eyebrow.

“You want somethin’?” he asks.

Cas shakes his head, urges the horse into a trot. “Not right now.”

“Suit yourself.” Dean strides away towards the homestead, boots crunching on the gravel path.

 

Inside the air is cool, and Dean takes a moment to lean against the fridge, lets the cold exterior suck away some of his anxiety. His palms are clammy, and when he removes them they leave bloodless smears on the stainless steel door. He wipes away the imprints with his sleeves, sighs deeply.

He feels as tangled as a gangly-legged colt in a wire fence; caught up in something that he should have guarded himself against. Thank God there’s a shelf full of beers in the fridge. 

Before he can head back outside however, he feels something slap against his ass. He yelps, twists around in shock and comes face to face with a gleaming-eyed Jo, holding a dishtowel over her shoulder in triumph.

“Bit early for a beer, isn’t it?” She lifts an eyebrow, places one hand on her hip.

Dean grunts, pries the cap from the bottle. “Nah,” he says, taking a sip and following it up with an exaggerated _Ahh_ , “never too early.”

Jo rolls her eyes, crosses her arms. “How’s the new guy?” she asks with a tone that’s a little _too_ teasing. 

Dean shrugs, tries to play it cool. “Not bad. He’s good with the horses. Not as good as Sammy, but he’s better than most, at least.”

“Oh.” Jo’s face falls somewhat. “’S a shame that he’s leaving soon, then.”

Dean nearly spits out his drink. “ _What?”_  

She blinks, taken aback. “Mom didn’t tell you? He’s got some big job lined up in Illinois, apparently.”

Something like fury builds up inside Dean’s chest. He places his drink on the bench slowly, swallows thickly. “When?”

“Two weeks maybe? Dean, are you alright?” 

He nods, runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, Jo, I’m fine. Just, uh, I gotta go take care of something, okay? See you later, kid.” He turns on his heel, ignores Jo when she calls his name.

The door slams behind him and he storms back across the yard, panic churning in his gut with nauseating alacrity.

Cas is still lunging the yearling when Dean swings himself over the gate and jumps down into the pen. Cas, surprised, calls the horse to a stop and turns to face Dean, a question forming on his lips. 

“Dean–“ he stops when he sees the look on Dean’s face. 

When they’re less than two feet apart Dean forces himself to stand, balls his hand into a fist at his side and holds it there firmly because he is _not_ going to be that guy.

“You fucker,” he growls, and Cas blinks, tenses. “When were you gonna tell me, huh?” Dean continues. “ _Were_ you gonna tell me? Or were you just gonna send me a postcard from Illinois and pretend like it doesn’t even _matter_?”

Castiel’s mouth forms the shape of an _O_. “Dean–“

“Just tell me why you’re leaving, Cas,” Dean barks, interrupting him again.

“I was offered a job,” he says quietly.

“You have a job here.”'

There’s a pause in which Cas meets Dean’s eye, face withdrawn into its usual mask of impassivity. “A better job. "

And, _wow_ , Dean’s not even going to pretend that doesn’t sting. He resists the urge to connect his knuckles with Castiel’s face. “So that’s it then? You’re just gonna go?” He breathes in, out, and all the fight leaves him in a rush, bleeds out onto the gritty sand beneath his feet. “Why didn’t you tell me, Cas?”

Cas sighs, stares into Dean’s eyes imploringly. “I didn’t know how,” he says, and Dean laughs once, bitterly.

“You should’ve told me–“ He pauses to scrub a hand over his face. “I thought – I thought you’d want to stay.”

“Dean.” Castiel’s voice is cutting, knife-sharp. “I am not in the habit of having sex in stables with men I hardly know.”

It’s blunt, leaving Dean with no room for interpretation. He slides his hands into the pockets of his jeans, looks up at Cas with a hard gaze. “So you made a mistake; that’s what you’re saying.” 

But Cas blinks, shakes his head. “Dean, I want to stay. But I can’t do that without forming–“ he purses his lips, searching for the right words, “–emotional attachments, and you’ve made it clear you have no interest in such things.”

Dean’s jaw drops. _No interest?_ _What planet is this guy from?_ He grabs Cas’ free hand on a whim, holds fast when Cas flinches away. “Cas,” he blurts out, “you’re an idiot.” Then he kisses him, heavy and hot. 

When he pulls away Cas frowns, glances down at their hands tangled together. Dean raises his other hand and cups Cas’ face in his palm. He smiles, strokes his thumb over his jaw. “This is me asking you to stay, you hear?”

Castiel’s frown deepens. “Dean, I meant what I said–“ He’s silenced with another kiss, and Dean untangles their hands, tugs him forward by the belt buckle so they’re pressed together, hats knocking at the brims. 

“I know,” Dean murmurs into his mouth. “And that’s why you should stay.”

Cas freezes and he pulls back, locks his blue eyes onto Dean’s in that familiar, intense stare. Beside them, the neglected yearling stamps its foot, snorts in impatience, and Dean quirks his lips into a smile, adjusts Cas’ hat so it’s secure on his head once again. “You’re shirking your duties, partner." 

“I was distracted,” he says, and all traces of doubt have vanished from his voice. 

Dean grins and steps away, fixes his own hat. He pats the horse’s nose fondly, laughs when it snorts over his hand. “Better get back to work,” he murmurs, and Cas nods, a smile forming at the corners of his mouth.

Dean leaves him, but as he’s walking away he turns back once, grins when he sees Cas still staring. He winks and doffs his hat, laughs when Cas rolls his eyes. “I’m not finished with you yet,” he calls out, and Cas nods his head once in solemn understanding.

As he heads for the stable Dean smiles to himself; in the distance the clouds rumble, promising a storm, but Dean knows that his own storm has already passed, and there is only sunshine to come. 


	5. Chapter 5

The weather blows in with a hiss and a roar, bringing with it a storm embellished by great bolts of lightning and explosions of thunder. The rain pours without end for two days, but it is a welcome relief from the dry summer heat, and Dean and Cas find themselves with an extra bit of free time on their hands.

For the most part Ellen demands their presence in the house, insisting they still earn their keep by helping out in other ways. They obey her willingly enough; there’s only so much that can be done when the sky’s a-pourin’ anyway. 

They haven’t talked about what happened, but Dean feels like something’s slid into place, like one last piece of a jigsaw, or the final part of an old, fixed-up car. There’s affection, too, and Dean won’t deny that it’s nice – even the brief pressure of a hand on his shoulder, or the slight brush of their arms as they wash the dishes side-by-side is enough to cause something warm and pleasant to uncurl inside Dean’s belly.

On the second evening of their confinement, when the clouds seem to be scattering apart enough to let the sun filter through, Dean pulls Cas to the side, kisses him with astounding thoroughness in the dimly lit hallway of the homestead. 

“You wanna go for a ride?” he asks, breath hot on Castiel’s skin.

Cas regards him with an amused smile. “You will have to clarify what kind of ride you’re referring to.”

Dean lets out a hoot of laughter, flops his head against Cas’ shoulder and snickers until his eyes water. “God, you’re filthy.”

Cas cocks his head to the left. “Forgive me, but I can hardly be blamed for misconstruing your intentions. _You’re_ the one holding me against the wall.” He’s smiling as he says it though, and Dean squeezes his hip playfully before pulling back.

“I got no problem with doing both, but how ‘bout we take the horses out first, hm?” He nuzzles at Cas’ jaw, kisses his neck.

He can feel Cas smile, and the way his hand curls in his hair is answer enough. Dean steps away, still flushed and grinning. “C’mon then, partner,” he says, and Cas straightens up, follows Dean outside into the storm-ravaged world.

  

They saddle up quickly and pretty soon they’re riding out together, racing each other along the gravel stretch before the grass. Dean _woops_ with joy, but Cas beats him easily, Novak as swift and light on his feet as a dancer. 

When the gravel runs out they slow to a walk, careful not to slip on the still-wet pasture. Impala tosses her head, sidesteps a little way before falling into place beside the ever-calm Novak. Dean guides them through the meadow, takes them down into the belly of a small valley and along its concave spine.

Eventually the cloud cover breaks almost completely, letting through a burst of golden sunlight that douses the whole world in an ethereal glow. Dean leads them up the other side of the valley and into a small wooded area where the trees are still dripping with rainwater. 

They ride in silence, but it’s an easy one – a silence between companions – and Dean feels tranquil under the canopy of the forest, with Impala’s soft footfalls beneath him and Cas’ quiet breathing behind.

 

At the bank of a small, clear pool, Dean halts, dismounts, and removes Impala’s bridle so she can graze at will. Cas follows his lead and together they hang the tack on an overhanging tree branch, leaving both horses to wander.

Immediately after, Dean begins to strip, peeling off his layers in smooth, fluid motions. Cas watches, eyes blown slightly wide, and Dean smirks, undoes his jeans and removes them with careless abandon. He motions for Cas to do the same, points to the pool.

“Fancy a swim?” he teases, toeing off his socks.

Cas swallows visibly, stares at Dean, now bereft of all items of clothing except his underwear. He lifts his hat off his head, hangs it carefully on a hook-like twig, before starting to work at his own shirt buttons, popping them open one by one.

Dean takes his time watching, leans back against the trunk of a gnarled old tree.

When they’re both as scantily clad as each other, Dean finally removes his underwear, sliding them off with little fanfare and stepping out of them straight into the water.

Cas hesitates a moment, then follows suit.

The water is tepid – a contrast to the cooler rain-swept air – and Dean admires the way it laps around Cas’ lithe, naked body and kisses his softly tanned skin. He reclines against the edge of the pool, lifts his elbows onto the bank in a picture of idleness.

Cas pushes towards him through the deep water, slides across the pond as easily as a slick-skinned otter. Dean smiles at his approach, draws in a breath when their bodies glide together seamlessly.

Strong thighs insert themselves between Dean’s, and graceful fingers come to rest upon his temples. Cas smiles, leans in so he can press their lips together.

Dean grins into the kiss, curls his fingers around the jut of Castiel’s hips and pulls him even closer, enjoying the way Cas’ body fits snug against his.

They kiss slow and sweet, testing and tasting, until Cas pulls back, replaces the pressure of his lips with a hand on Dean’s cheek, a thumb on his mouth. “It’s beautiful here,” he says with wonder in his eyes. 

Dean drops his hands lower, squeezes Cas’ firm thighs. “Yeah.” 

For a long moment they do nothing but look at each, tracing the planes and details of each other’s faces with their eyes. Eventually Cas leans in again, this time bringing their mouths together with a fiercer energy than before.

Dean reciprocates, licks into the cavity of Cas’ mouth with a warm, eager tongue. Something ignites inside Dean’s belly and he grips Cas tight, moans quietly when Cas’ lips stray and start peppering kisses along the curve of Dean’s neck. 

His mouth moves lower, suckles on the skin that stretches over Dean’s collarbone. Hands find Dean’s hips and without warning he lifts Dean out of the water, deposits him on his ass on the bank without ceasing his steady stream of kisses.

Dean makes a noise embarrassingly similar to a squawk, clutches at Cas’ shoulders. “ _Cas_ –“ his voice is cut short when Cas circles Dean’s right nipple with his tongue, causing Dean’s brain to short circuit. He squirms on the bank, grips Cas with his legs.

Cas crowds in close, and his stomach presses in against Dean’s hardening cock. He kisses down Dean’s torso, sucks bright red marks into the places where his skin is softest. Dean strains to create friction, but Cas clamps down on his hips, forces him to be still.

“Patience, Dean,” he murmurs in that impossibly rough voice, and Dean goes limp, curls in on himself and _holds_.

Cas licks a trail down the centre of Dean’s stomach, bowing slightly to better access the lower places of Dean’s body. He bypasses Dean’s now completely hard cock and moves to the skin just underneath, nestles his nose into the curl of hair that resides there. With slow kisses he attends to Dean’s balls, earning a loud groan from Dean’s slack mouth.

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean chokes when the very tip of Cas’ tongue trails a wet line up to the base of his cock.

“Such a–“ he sucks in a strangled breath, “goddamn tease.”

A growl erupts from Castiel’s throat and the sound travels straight to Dean’s cock, causing it to twitch with need. He fists a hand in Cas’ hair, digs his fingers in as far as his scalp. Cas _smirks_ against him, and Dean almost loses it completely when he mouths at the sensitive underside – lightly at first, but then with growing vigour. 

He reaches the crown and Dean sucks in a breath of anticipation, readjusts his hold on Castiel’s damp shock of hair. Cas takes the very tip inside his mouth, rolls his tongue over the slit and tastes the leaking pre-come that dribbles out.

Dean’s head tips back, his mouth forming an _O_ shape, and he moans something incoherent. “Where’d you – learn to do – this,” he babbles between gasps.

Cas ignores him, still taking his cock further and further into his mouth with each passing second. His tongue swipes over the shaft, sending sparks of arousal throughout Dean’s whole body. 

When Cas grazes his teeth lightly over Dean’s cock, Dean jerks his hips in an involuntary motion. He swears, grits his own teeth together and forces his body to remain still as the pressure of his impending orgasm builds to formidable heights. 

Firm hands push Dean’s thighs further apart, allowing Cas to swallow him down even more, but before Dean has a chance to adjust, Cas is pulling back, gliding his lips around Dean’s aching dick. As he reaches the tip, he flicks his tongue over it deftly, eliciting a loud groan from Dean.

He takes Dean back into his mouth again, swallowing him down as far as he can.

The second time he draws away, Dean feels the orgasm rip through him with all the strength of a stampede. He tips his head right back, trembles and shakes as Cas pulls his mouth away and replaces it with a hand, gently stroking him through the waves of electrifying pleasure.  

Dean slumps, slithers into the water when he’s finished. There’s a line of Dean’s release dripping from Cas’ lips, and Dean wipes it away, grins lazily at him. Cas stares back with hunger in his eyes, arches himself into Dean to make his desire known. 

It only takes a few short strokes for Cas to come, and he spills his release into the water with a quiet gasp.

When he stops shuddering, Dean pulls his limp body against his own, kisses his cheek reverently.

From somewhere above a slender finger of dusky light breaks through the canopy of trees, bathing the area around them in a golden glow. Dean rubs his hands through Cas’ hair, straightens his curls into a more respectable shape. “Hey,” he murmurs when Cas meets his gaze. 

Cas kisses him once, tasting sharply of Dean. “Hello.”

“We should head back before it gets dark.”

Cas nuzzles into the hollow underneath Dean’s chin. “Not yet,” he says, and Dean can feel the flutter of his eyelids as he closes them, soft and light as feathers.

He rubs a long, straight line down Castiel’s back, kisses his hair. “Alright.”

 

In the end they don’t make it back before the sun sets, and they lead their horses home under a star-encrusted sky – the moon half full and bright on their left.

They walk into the stable on tired legs, and both Dean and Cas unsaddle with slow, lethargic movements that have them yawning and stumbling over their own feet. 

Impala and Novak are patient, but they go gladly when they’re lead out to the pasture and set loose in the paddock. Dean and Cas watch them for a time, until they roam too far afield and can no longer be seen in the velvet darkness – not even Novak, whose coat is usually a shining beacon of white. 

At last they drag themselves home, boots grating on the stones leading up to the porch. Dean pulls Cas in for one more leisurely kiss before they step inside, holds his face in his hands and brushes his thumbs over Cas’ cheeks.

“I thought we were cowboys,” Cas murmurs, lightly teasing.

Dean laughs, kisses him once more. “Nah,” he says, and tugs Cas down onto the wooden bench beside the door, removes his own shoes, then Castiel’s.

They stand, and Dean guides Cas inside with a hand on the small of his back, leaving the mesh door to slam shut behind them, and the world to shiver in their wake. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I post all my fics (and more!) on my tumblr: wexchester.tumblr.com
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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